


A Spoonful Of Sugar

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Anthea (Sherlock), Bed Sex, Don't copy to another site, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mycroft Feels, Not Beta Read, POV Mycroft Holmes, Pre-Proposal Nerves, Shower Sex, Tender Sex, Tenderness, they love each other so much guys, this fic was inspired by a picture of an engraved spoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 05:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Mycroft and Greg have spent the last decade together, and Mycroft decides that it's finally time to propose.





	A Spoonful Of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> If you read the tag that said this fic was inspired by a spoon, it was indeed. Whilst browsing coffee related sites, I came across a picture of a spoon engraved with 'Will you marry me?' and for some reason my brain screamed Mystrade, so here we are. 
> 
> You can see an example of a spoon like this [here](http://www.patlicanpolonezkoy.com/medya/will-you-marry-me-dessert-spoon.jpg).

Mycroft manages to roll out of bed when his alarm rings, turning it off with his eyes still closed. 

It’s somewhat of a challenge to move because he has to escape Greg’s arms. 

The other man groans softly in protest, between asleep and awake. 

Once Mycroft has left the bed, Greg disappears under the covers, murmuring something incoherent. 

Mycroft glances back at him adoringly before heading to the ensuite to start the shower. 

Satisfied that the water will be hot by the time he brushes his teeth, he goes to the sink. 

In the mirror, he sees Greg shuffle into the bathroom behind him. 

“Mornin’, love.” Greg murmurs, moving towards him. 

Mycroft smiles at their reflection, and Greg wraps his arms around Mycroft’s waist, watching them both in the mirror. A cheeky smile blossoms on Greg’s face as he presses his erection against Mycroft’s arse. 

“May I join you in the shower?” He arches an eyebrow as a hand slides down Mycroft’s stomach, brushing along his cock almost teasingly. 

Mycroft takes a sharp intake of breath, “You’re insatiable.” He murmurs, blushing despite himself.

“I’m in love with the sexiest man on earth, ‘course I’m insatiable.” Greg leans in to press kisses down Mycroft’s neck as he takes Mycroft’s cock in his hand, giving it a few slow strokes. 

Mycroft throws his head back, moaning softly. 

He can feel his cock fill out at Greg’s touch. 

“Love how you react like this.” Greg whispers in his ear, voice low and husky. “Just for me.”

Mycroft feels a shiver run down his spine, and he turns his head seeking out Greg’s lips. 

Greg kisses him slowly and gently. 

“Shower. Now.” He murmurs against Mycroft’s lips. 

They both make it under the steaming water, stealing kisses every few steps. 

“C’mere you.” Greg grasps onto Mycroft and presses him against the tiled wall, making Mycroft gasp at the sensation of the cold tiles against his back.

Mycroft wraps his arms around Greg’s shoulders, pulling him up against him and into a deep kiss. 

Greg moans into the kiss, caressing Mycroft’s face. He presses his hips against Mycroft’s, both moan at the sensation of their cocks brushing against each other. 

They rut against each other slowly under the water, as though they have all the time in the world. Their sounds are swallowed by the kisses and the soft hum of the shower. 

Mycroft trails his fingers down Greg’s spine, grinning into the kiss as Greg shudders against him. 

Greg gasps as Mycroft squeezes his arse, spreading his legs. 

Mycroft smirks in satisfaction when he pushes back against Greg and Greg breaks their kiss to moan Mycroft’s name. 

Mycroft only takes this as encouragement and his fingers tease around Greg’s hole. 

“Fuck, Myc.” Greg groans, “And you said I’m the insatiable one?” 

Mycroft laughs softly, leaning in to kiss Greg again, “Yes, but I didn’t mention myself.” 

Greg shakes his head, amusement written across his face. “Christ, I love you, you bastard.”

Mycroft draws his fingers away and Greg lets out a little sigh of regret which catches in his throat as Mycroft takes both their cocks in his hand. 

Greg leans against him, pressing kisses along Mycroft’s cheeks, trailing them until he reaches Mycroft’s lips.

Mycroft speeds up his movements and Greg bucks into his hand. 

“Those fingers...” Greg murmurs, trailing his hands down Mycroft’s body, moaning softly. 

Greg’s hand curls around Mycroft’s, following his movements. 

“Like that, god yes.” Greg murmurs, voice strained as they work together. 

Mycroft smiles in satisfaction, watching Greg closely, seeing each expression spread across his face, every minute detail. Watching Greg is almost enough to get him off. 

Greg’s wide eyes meet Mycroft’s, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly ajar; they don’t have to speak. 

They’ve learned each other so thoroughly by now, they both know they’re close. 

Greg kisses Mycroft deeply, the hand that’s not with Mycroft’s braces him against the wall. 

They both moan when they come, spilling over into each other’s hand, washing away under the stream of the shower. 

Greg shakes against Mycroft as they work through their aftershocks, Mycroft wraps his arms around Greg, stealing another kiss. “I love you, Gregory.” 

Greg’s answering smile could eclipse the sun. “I love you too.” 

They rest their foreheads against each other. 

Mycroft sighs in satisfaction, “I suppose we should shower.” 

Greg actually giggles and it warms Mycroft’s heart. “Hmm, that might be why we’re here.” 

“Not quite sure.” Mycroft murmurs, caressing Greg’s face, “But alas we have jobs to get to.” 

Greg shakes his head, “Always the practical one.” 

-

Mycroft appears in the kitchen as Greg is pouring out his coffee, a mug beside his is steeping for Mycroft’s tea. 

Mycroft goes to get his mug, and watches with an amused smile as Greg takes the sugar pot from the press above him and puts two spoons of sugar in his black coffee. 

Greg raises a brow at Mycroft, “Only in the morning coffee, love. It’s a treat.” 

Mycroft kisses Greg’s cheek, “Aren’t you already sweet enough?” 

Greg laughs, “Never.” 

Mycroft follows Greg’s motions, sees him throw the spoon into the sink. 

His heart picks up when he thinks about what he’s going to do. He brushes up against Greg, “Porridge?” 

Greg hums in agreement, helping Mycroft prepare their breakfast. It’s rare they get to be together for breakfast, but it’s happening more and more lately and Mycroft is only ecstatic about it. 

-

Anthea strolls into Mycroft’s office with a bemused expression across her face. 

Mycroft glances up, confused. 

“Your mail.” She says handing over a pile of letters, but she keeps a small package in her hands. 

Mycroft glances from it to Anthea, his heart taking off. 

She holds it out to him, “Suspicious package, security scanned it.” 

Mycroft takes it from her, a blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Would you like to tell me why you ordered a spoon?” She asks, amusement clear across her face.

Mycroft sighs heavily, “I’ve made a decision.” 

Anthea’s face falls, and she sits down across from him. “Bad?”

Mycroft shrugs, “I suppose it all depends on the response I’m greeted with.” 

Anthea stares at him in confusion. 

Mycroft simply begins unpacking the spoon. When he takes out the spoon, his finger brushes across the engraving, a nervousness taking over. He simply hands it across his desk to Anthea. 

Anthea gasps, “Oh Mycroft.” She looks across to him, a smile blooming on her lips. “Tell me everything.” 

Mycroft sits back in his chair, “I have a ring too.” He explains, “I just wished it to be something memorable, spontaneous. Then I saw these advertised online.” 

Anthea grins as she hands the spoon back to him. “I think proposals, no matter how they’re done are always memorable.” 

Mycroft places the spoon on his desk, watching it carefully.

“When are you going to pop the question?” 

“We’ve been able to have breakfast together more lately.” 

The laughter lines around Anthea’s eyes crinkle, “You’re welcome, darling.” 

Mycroft chuckles, “You need a raise.” 

Anthea waves her hand in the air, she’s already had three raises so far this year. “So, in the morning?” 

Mycroft nods, “He’s started taking sugar in his coffee, I was going to switch the spoons.” 

“You really are a genius. I’m happy for you both.” 

“What if-“

Anthea shakes her head, “Don’t you dare. Of course he’ll say yes. Christ, I take back the genius comment.” 

-

A knock on his office door brings Mycroft back to the present. He signs off on a document for the European Commission with a flourish.

“Come in.” Mycroft calls, he doesn’t have any appointments for today, and silently hopes there is no emergency that needs his attention. 

He’s more than pleasantly surprised when it’s Greg that enters the room.

Mycroft’s eyes shamelessly roam over Greg’s body, he can feel the smile on his face and doesn’t dare to hide it. 

Greg’s holding a paper bag and two takeaway coffees from Mycroft’s favourite cafe. 

“Hey there, love.” Greg blushes when he meets Mycroft’s eyes. “Slow day, actually got out for lunch.” 

Mycroft stands up, “Whenever you say it’s a slow day something always happens.” He says amused. 

Greg rolls his eyes, setting the coffee and bag down on Mycroft’s desk. “Tell me about it. Probably won’t see you until the middle of the night, someone somewhere will end up dead.” 

Mycroft crosses around the desk, coming up to Greg, “Let’s hope not.” He caresses Greg’s cheek, leaning in for a kiss. 

Greg hums happily, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s shoulders, pulling him closer. 

“‘S’good to see you, love.” Greg murmurs, reluctant to let Mycroft go. He pulls him in for another kiss, and Mycroft can feel him smile against his lips. 

“Got your favourite sarnie too.” 

Mycroft rests his forehead against Greg’s, “What did I ever do to deserve you?” 

Greg laughs, his true carefree laugh that warms Mycroft in every possible way. He’s so certain about wanting to marry this man that it almost takes his breath away. 

“You existed, is all. C’mon, coffee will get cold.” 

They move over to the set of furniture that Mycroft has in front of the unlit fireplace, both of them sitting on the sofa, placing their lunch on the table in front of them. 

“How has your day been?” Greg asks, unwrapping his sandwich. 

Mycroft mirrors him, sighing he shakes his head. “Brexit will be the death of me.” 

Greg touches his arm gently, “When all this utter bollocks is over, I’m taking time off and we’re going on a holiday far away from here.” 

Mycroft snorts, “Will it ever end?” 

Greg leans in and kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll take you away anyway.” 

“Oh?” Mycroft says in amusement. 

Greg smiles cheekily, chocolate eyes sparkling. “No arguing.” 

Mycroft chuckles, “I wouldn’t dare.” Briefly he thinks about the potential holiday being their honeymoon and he can’t help the excited feeling in his stomach, heart speeding up. 

They eat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft’s heart thudding. He glances at Greg’s bare ring finger and wonders if tomorrow there will be a ring there. 

“I was thinking of cooking a quiche tonight, what do you think?” 

Greg grins, “Sounds perfect. Oh, I think we’re nearly out of milk.” 

Something so normal and so domestic about their conversation, something Mycroft never thought he would have makes his heart want to burst. 

“I’ll get some on my way home.” Mycroft murmurs. 

Greg’s phone rings as they’re cleaning up lunch. 

Greg sighs and throws a knowing glance at Mycroft. 

“Lestrade?” He answers, Mycroft finishes clearing up, hearing Greg sigh. 

“Myc.” Greg brings him out of his mind, he smiles softly, “Got to go, hopefully I’ll be home before 8, if not I’ll text you, alright?” 

Mycroft nods, “I’ll leave the quiche in the fridge if not.” 

Greg crosses the room to him, pulling him into an intense kiss, his fingers running through Mycroft’s hair, Mycroft pulls Greg into him, arms around his waist. 

“Love you.” Greg whispers, breath warm against Mycroft’s ear. 

Mycroft presses a kiss to Greg’s cheek. “I love you too, I’ll see you later.” 

Ten minutes after Greg has left, and Mycroft has fixed his hair Anthea walks into the office, unable to hold back her smile. “Lunch from your favourite cafe, how wonderful.” 

Mycroft blushes, “It was very kind of him.” 

Anthea raises a brow, “Didn’t just propose to him there now?” 

Mycroft snorts, “No, why?” 

Anthea shrugs, “He just looked so happy, especially for someone going to see a body that’s been pulled from the Thames.” 

He can feel the blush deepen on his cheeks, the heat of it obvious. He glances over at Anthea, 

“I never thought I could…” His voice trails off, thinking about Greg, thinking about all those years that he had closed himself off from people. All it had taken to break down his walls was Greg doing something as simple and as intimate as brushing away an errant eyelash and telling him to make a wish. 

The touch had been intimate beyond belief. It had also been the first time Mycroft had been touched in years, too long to remember. He almost fell into Greg’s arms. 

It all started that night. 

His wish had been granted. 

Anthea gives him an indulgent smile, “You can and have. Told you all along.” Her eyes dance, “I can be the maid of honour, right?” 

Mycroft can’t help but laugh, “I couldn’t think of anyone finer.” 

-

Mycroft’s car waits for him outside of a Marks and Spencer, while he goes to buy milk and some groceries.

Coming home, he sees that Greg isn’t back yet. He goes to get changed and begins making the quiche. It’s always been one of Greg’s favourite meals. 

At half seven, Mycroft’s phone rings as he’s just about to plate up the quiches. 

He sees Greg’s caller ID and sighs. 

This can only mean one thing. 

“Gregory.” 

“Hello, love.” Mycroft can hear sirens in the distance. “I’m gonna be late.” Greg sounds tired, unhappy. “Found the suspect and he confessed. We have to take him for questioning, could be another few hours at the least. M’sorry Myc.” 

Mycroft silently curses the murderers of London and their abysmal timing. 

“Don’t worry, dearest.” Mycroft says reassuringly, “Work happens.”

Greg sighs, “I know, it’s just…”

“I’ll put your dinner in the fridge.” 

“You’re a star, love. Really.” 

Mycroft can’t help but to smile a little. “It’s no effort.” 

Greg’s name is called in the background, the voice slightly distorted over the phone. 

Greg sighs again, this time deeper than the last. “Don’t wait up for me, I really don’t know when I’ll be back.” 

“I shall see you later.” 

“Yeah,” Greg pauses, “Love you.” 

“And I you.” He really does. He’s never been more certain. 

-

Mycroft has always been a light sleeper, tonight especially so. 

Nerves are making themselves known. The ring box is inside tomorrow’s suit jacket, the spoon hidden in the pocket of his suit trousers. 

It’s nearly midnight when he hears the front door, and he’s not had a wink of sleep. 

He hears Greg move around and he gets out of bed, slipping into his dressing gown, tying it at the waist. 

When he gets to the kitchen, Greg has his back to him. He’s watching the microwave as the kettle boils to his right. His phone is on the counter and it’s playing Etta James quietly; just enough for it to be audible to Greg standing near it. 

“Gregory.” Mycroft unintentionally scares Greg, who jumps to turn around, clearly breaking him out ofhis thoughts. 

Greg looks knackered. His eyes are bloodshot from tiredness, yet he still manages a smile for Mycroft. 

“Scared me there.” 

Mycroft smiles at him apologetically. 

“Did I wake you?” 

Mycroft shakes his head, “Sleep is not being cooperative tonight.” 

Greg crosses the space between them to pull him into a warm hug. Mycroft kisses his cheek. 

“How was it?”

Greg relaxes a little in Mycroft’s arms, “Long. Petty. All over a relationship.” 

“Ah.”

“Makes me remember how lucky we are.” 

Mycroft pulls back to kiss him on the mouth. “Indeed.” 

The ding of the microwave startles them both. 

Mycroft sits beside Greg as he eats, holding a cup of camomile in his hands. 

“So, what’s been on your mind?” Greg asks between forkfuls of food. 

Mycroft glances at him in confusion. 

“Must be something to stop you sleeping is all.” 

Mycroft shakes his head, heart picking up in his chest. “Just the usual.” 

Greg nods in understanding, “Top secret and all that?” 

“Unfortunately.”

In between mouthfuls of food, Greg hums. “This is amazing by the way.” 

Mycroft grins proudly. 

When Greg yawns and stretches, Mycroft watches him. 

“Would you like me to run you a bath?”

“Only if you’ll join me, love.” Despite how tired he looks, Greg’s eyes sparkle mischievously. 

“How on earth could I refuse?”

Greg laughs loud and carefree and Mycroft is certain that hearing him like this grants him years of life. 

He wants this for them for the rest of their lives. For forever. 

-

Mycroft makes his way to their ensuite to start running the bath. His heart thrums in his chest, tendrils of arousal beginning to build. 

He hears Greg in their room, pattering around over the sound of the water running. 

He can hear Greg humming and Mycroft adds a generous amount of lavender bubblebath. He sits on the edge of the bath and is facing Greg when he walks in in only his boxers. He gifts Mycroft with a tired smile as he throws the rest of his clothes in the laundry basket. 

Their bath is easily big enough for the both of them. 

After long and difficult days, they end up here. 

Mycroft is about to reach to turn off the water but Greg does it instead. He leans in to kiss Mycroft on the cheek. “Sorry for keeping you up, I know it’s late.” 

“Never apologise for us having the opportunity to spend time together.” Mycroft murmurs, reaching out to touch Greg’s arms. 

Greg grins at him, eyes sparkling. “Feeling poetic tonight, Mr Holmes?” 

Greg sits between Mycroft’s legs, leaning back to rest against Mycroft. Mycroft wraps his arms around him and holds him close as they get used to the water. 

The last time they did this, it was the other way around. Mycroft had had an abysmal day. 

Mycroft places a kiss to Greg’s neck, resulting in a satisfied hum. 

Mycroft gets to work on the other man’s neck and shoulders. He massages the muscles, trying to get rid of the tension that he can feel. 

Greg melts into his touch, letting out a quiet moan as Mycroft’s fingers work their way down his back. 

When he’s done allhe can, he begins to lather soap and wash Greg, fingers light against the other man’s skin. At one point of his ministrations, Greg turns his head: a silent request for a kiss. Mycroft complies without protest. 

Eventually his hands get to Greg’s groin, and Greg lets out a breathy “_Mycroft_” when he strokes the man’s half-hard cock. 

“Hmm?” He hums innocently, lips by Greg’s ear. 

Greg takes a shaky breath, “Bed?”

Mycroft’s own arousal makes his blood sing. “Of course.” He presses one last kiss to Greg’s neck before they get out of the water and dry each other off. 

Greg grabs Mycroft’s hand, leading them into their room. It’s warm and softly lit by only the bedside lamps. 

They lie down beside each other, and Greg watches Mycroft with dark eyes as he slowly trails his fingers down Greg’s body teasingly, stopping before he reaches Greg’s cock. 

Greg inhales shakily, he closes the distance between the two of them and caresses Mycroft’s cheek, leaning in to kiss him.

“Let me look after you.” Mycroft whispers into the charged silence. 

Greg manages to grin at him, pupils dilated and he’s pale with tiredness. He leans into Mycroft anyway, and presses a soft kiss against his lips. 

They both know this routine, they’ve crafted it over their years together. They know how to ask for what they need after a long day. It’s not necessarily all about sex, but it’s important that the difficult and exhausting days end with them making love. 

A reminder of sorts to remind them that they have each other. 

Greg rests his hand over Mycroft’s heart. His thumb stroking over the warm skin. He glances up at Mycroft from under his lashes, “Fuck me, Myc.” 

Mycroft nods, pressing a chaste kiss to Greg’s cheek before moving. “Of course, my love. Of course.” 

It doesn’t matter that it’s past two in the morning; they fall into each other as they always have. 

Mycroft sits across Greg’s thighs as Greg sits up, back resting against the headboard. Mycroft cradles Greg’s face as get kiss, they lay against each other, hot skin on skin. 

Their erections brush against each other and they both moan softly. 

When Greg’s kisses become more heated, Mycroft pulls away. Greg’s grip tightens on Mycroft’s shoulders, resulting in an amused smile. 

Mycroft leans in to nip at Greg’s ear, “How do you want me?” 

Greg whimpers in response as Mycroft wraps his hand around both their erections, burying his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, breath hitching. “I want to see you.” 

Mycroft places a light kiss to Greg’s hair, “Your wish is my command.” 

“I need you.” Greg whispers, voice strained as Mycroft strokes them both, the friction making Greg shiver. 

“You have all of me.” Mycroft murmurs, slowly starting to kiss down Greg’s body; warm, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. His hands gently trailing down Greg’s sides. Greg whimpers as Mycroft mouths over a nipple.

“Please, Myc.” 

Mycroft hums in acknowledgement, “Turn around for me.” He murmurs as he moves to fetch the lube from the bedside table. 

Mycroft settles between Greg’s legs, kissing his way down Greg’s spine. There’s no urgency to their movements, but there is a sense of ritual, almost worship to the process. 

“Please.” Greg whispers again, voice muffled by the pillows but still loud in the silence of their room. 

Mycroft presses a kiss to the base of Greg’s spine, hearing Greg inhale deeply. “Like this?”

“Yes, fuck.” is the urgent, breathless reply. 

Mycroft spreads Greg’s cheeks, continues pressing kisses against the warm skin, and Greg lets out a curse as Mycroft’s tongue crosses his hole. 

Mycroft continues his ritual in a practiced way, watching Greg become increasingly more desperate. He manages to warm some lube on his fingers and uses them along with his tongue. 

Greg’s hands grasp onto the bedsheets so hard his knuckles are white. 

“Myc!” 

“Yes?”

Greg buries his head in the pillow, “_Fuck me_.” The words are muffled but the command is clear and Mycroft feels a surge of arousal course through him at the words. 

“I intend to, Gregory.” He murmurs, pressing one last kiss to the base of Greg’s spine before he goes to wash his teeth and grab a towel. 

When he walks back into their room, the sight of Greg laid out on the bed, lazily stroking his own cock as he waits for Mycroft makes Mycroft still by the bed, watching Greg with hunger in his eyes. 

Greg grins knowingly at him, eyes hooded and dark. There’s a gorgeous flush in his cheeks and down his neck, a contrast against the tired, pale pallor of his skin before. 

Mycroft’s cock twitches as they make eye-contact, and Greg looks at him expectantly. “Get over here now, love.”

It’s mere seconds before Mycroft is leaning into Greg’s embrace and they’re kissing as though their life depends on it. 

Mycroft coats his cock in lube and Greg wraps his legs around him. _“Mycroft._” He pleads. 

“Patience.” Mycroft murmurs, voice hushed. 

“M’not patient.” Greg trails his fingers down Mycroft’s spine, pulling him closer. 

Mycroft huffs a laugh leans in to kiss Greg, pushing into him slowly in their own practiced way. 

Greg’s blunt nails dig into Mycroft’s skin, and Greg breaks the kiss with a low moan. 

“Christ, Myc.” He murmurs as Mycroft bottoms out, opening his eyes he meets Mycroft’s. “Feels so good.” 

Mycroft can only moan in agreement, chasing another kiss as he starts to thrust. 

Greg slips a hand between their bodies to stroke his own cock. 

“I love you.” Mycroft murmurs, breathless, angling his thrusts just so, and feels a sense of satisfaction as Greg cries out. 

Greg clings onto him, the fingers of his spare hand dig into Mycroft’s shoulders, his other hand quickens his strokes. 

“Myc,” Greg breathes, “Again.” 

Mycroft’s thrusts are becoming uneven, he buries his head on Greg’s shoulder, nipping at the skin. 

“I love you.” He repeats, hitting that spot again and again. 

“Close.” Greg whimpers and Mycroft draws him into another heated kiss as they both climax, collapsing into each other, sharing breath and warmth. It doesn’t matter that their sticky, they hold each other in their arms as they return to the room. 

“Fuck.” Greg’s voice is hoarse, his breathing slowing down, he runs his hands up and down Mycroft’s spine soothingly. 

All Mycroft can think of as he breathes in Greg is the ring in his suit pocket, and going to fetch it this second and ask Greg to marry him right now, but his body is not cooperating with him. 

“Let’s get cleaned up.” Greg murmurs, tiredness once again clear in his voice. 

“Mhm.” 

“Love you too, by the way.” Greg presses a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s temple and Mycroft can only smile with pure, drowsy happiness. 

-

Mycroft wakes to the sound of his alarm, Greg is curled around him, so deeply asleep that he doesn’t appear to even hear the alarm. 

Mycroft manages to turn it off without waking Greg and he just lies in the warmth of their bodies. He watches Greg in silence, his heart thudding at the thought of proposing today. 

He gently runs his fingers through Greg’s silver hair, something he’s done countless times, but somehow now feels different. There’s a sharpness to the action. 

Mycroft kisses the top of Greg’s head, closing his eyes and breathing in the ever familiar scent of both of them. 

Greg murmurs something incoherent, but doesn’t move, Mycroft can’t help but smile. 

Mycroft takes out his phone with the arm Greg isn’t lying on and is about to text Anthea when Greg sighs, “Myc?” 

“Yes, love?” 

“M’not goin’ in ‘til lunch...jus’paperwork. Stay?” It’s taken many years to understand Greg’s partially awake vocabulary, but Mycroft’s used to it by now. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” He murmurs, “I’ll just call Anthea.”

“Mhmm.” Greg does him a favour by untangling their bodies, “Please.” 

How could Mycroft possibly refuse?

Mycroft calls Anthea who picks up on the second ring. “You’ve done it already?” She sounds surprised, and Mycroft can mentally see her checking her watch. 

“No.” 

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed more than anything. 

Mycroft sighs, “Can you clear my morning? Gregory isn’t going into work until midday.”

Mycroft is surprised by Anthea’s laughter. “Myc, darling, I’ve cleared your whole day.”

Mycroft’s confused silence is quickly soothed by Anthea’s voice. “Figured you two would like to...celebrate.” 

“Very funny.” 

“Yeah, but true.” Anthea counters and Mycroft can feel himself blush. 

“Thank you.” Mycroft whispers sincerely. 

Anthea hums, “Do let me know when you’ve done it, I want to know everything!” 

“Of course. Though I do fear my plan has been derailed slightly.” 

Anthea scoffs, “You’re Mycroft Bloody Holmes, you’ll figure it out. Good luck, it’ll all be wonderful. See you.” And with that, she’s gone. 

When he comes back into their room, Greg looks as though he’s fallen back asleep. 

The “Hmm?” That comes from the bundle under the covers makes Mycroft laugh. 

“My morning is clear. As is my day, if needed.” 

Greg turns on his side, opening his eyes to meet Mycroft’s. “C’mere then.” 

Mycroft gets rid of his dressing gown, blushing as Greg gives him an appraising look. Once Mycroft’s in bed, Greg draws him into a kiss, slow and gentle. 

“Need at least five hours sleep to function now, not a young lad anymore.” It’s easier to understand Greg now that he’s woken up slightly. 

“Nonsense.” 

Greg snorts, “Used to be able to work for 48 hours at once way back when. Now coffee doesn’t even help. I’d be dead on my feet.” 

Mycroft wraps an arm around him, “Well, Detective Chief Inspector Gregory Lestrade, you now have minions to do the all nighters for you.” 

“Ooh Mister Holmes, and how will I spend all that spare time?” Greg teases, batting his eyelashes. 

Before Mycroft can even begin to think of a coherent answer, Greg yawns. 

“More sleep, perhaps?” 

“My genius.” Greg curls around him again, and Mycroft kisses his forehead. 

“I’ll make you breakfast in bed.” Mycroft promises. “After the rest of your obligatory five hours. Wouldn’t want to tire you out.” 

Greg chuckles, “Hmm, Myc, you can tire me out whenever you’d like.” 

“Honestly, Gregory.” 

“Love you, darlin’” Greg kisses his shoulder, and Mycroft holds him close as he listens to Greg’s breathing slow and even out. He even finds himself drifting off listening to the familiar and comforting sounds. 

-

Mycroft wakes with a warm Greg sprawled across him. He manages to check the alarm clock on the bedside table and sees that it’s ten o’clock. He lies there in thought, Greg’s head resting on his chest. Providing Greg stays asleep, it will be easy to transfer the ring into his dressing gown; instead of proposing in the kitchen as they prepare to go to work, he can now propose in the comfort of their own bedroom which seems like a more intimate idea anyway. 

The anxiety ofthe weight of this decision still hides within him, the ‘what if he says no?’ Still flitting through his head every now and again. 

Realistically, Mycroft knows that the answer will most likely be a yes. But they also have never spoken about the prospect of getting married. Growing old together, being godparents? Of course, but marriage seemed taboo, especially with Greg’s first marriage having gone so horrifically. 

However, Mycroft with a lot of encouragement from Anthea realised about a year ago that they were different. They’ve been together for almost eleven years at this point, and admittedly, Mycroft has been thinking about marriage for quite some time. 

They’ve been through so much together, and Mycroft intends for that to last so much longer. 

With practised ease, Mycroft manages to extricate himself from Greg’s grip without waking him. After getting dressed in pyjamas to preserve some modesty, he goes to his wardrobe to hide the ring box and the spoon in his dressing gown pocket. 

Holding the ring box is enough to set his heart hurdling again. 

He glances back at Greg, who’s still asleep before making his way to the kitchen. 

Mycroft begins by preparing the cafetière, using Greg’s favourite blend of coffee. He turns on the radio, setting the volume on low for company. It’s set to his favourite classical music station and he focuses on the various pieces as he moves around the kitchen with a sense of nervous determination. 

He steeps the leaves of his own Earl Grey tea and goes about cooking a proper English breakfast for Greg; his favourite breakfast. Substituting the fried egg with a scrambled one cooked to Greg’s preference. As the breakfast fries, Mycroft sets out the tray to carry upstairs. 

He takes the spoon out of his pocket, placing it beside the sugar ramekin, facing up. The engraved ‘will you marry me?’ stands out, but he wonders if that’s merely because he knows it’s there. He tries to reason with himself that Greg may not even notice it. 

He hears Anthea’s voice admonish him in his head, telling him that Gregory is a detective, and a bloody good one at that.

Once everything is sorted to his satisfaction, Mycroft takes some calming breaths, double checking he has everything before heading to the bedroom. 

Greg is still buried under the covers, but he seems to sense Mycroft near him and turns around when he hears the tray being placed on his bedside table. “Mmm?” 

“You have had your mandatory five hours sleep.” Mycroft teases, leaning down to press a kiss on Greg’s cheek. “I brought you breakfast.” 

“You’re too good to me.” Greg’s voice is thick with sleep and it makes Mycroft’s knees weak. 

Greg sits up against the headboard and glances at the tray. “Nothing for you?” 

Mycroft gestures towards the tea. “Just tea for the moment.”

Greg frowns, “You sure you’re alright? You’re looking a bit pale, love.”

“Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine.” Mycroft glances at the tray, “It’ll get cold.” 

“What a crime!” Greg grins, picking up the tray. Mycroft returns to his spot beside Greg, picking up his mug of tea, and trying to act nonchalant, despite the fact that his heart has convinced itself that it’s running in the grand national. 

Mycroft watches as Greg picks up the cafetière to pour out some coffee, humming in contentment. He holds his mug of earl grey tightly, trying to hide the shake in his hands. 

“The smell of coffee in the morning, one of my favourite things.” Greg murmurs, reaching for the spoon. 

Mycroft holds his breath, heart thumping in his chest. 

“And proper coffee too, not like th-“ Greg pauses, the spoon held in mid-air. 

Mycroft is nearly certain that his heart skips a few beats, he certainly forgets how to breathe. 

Greg’s hand tremors as he pulls the spoon closer, eyes narrowed in confusion, unsure if he’s really seeing the engraving. 

Mycroft’s sure that he’s pretty close to blacking out when he remembers the ring box in the pocket of his dressing gown. He manages some shallow breaths as Greg stays still and silent. 

“Myc-“ Greg’s voice cracks. 

Mycroft feels his heart drop to his stomach. He places his mug of tea on the tray, his shaking hands searching out the ring box. 

Greg breaks his unwavering stare-off with the spoon to turn his head towards Mycroft, his eyes wide and noticeably vulnerable. He watches in silence as Mycroft brings the ring box into view. 

Greg’s mouth falls open in shock. 

Mycroft’s own anxiety is starting to take control of his body. Suddenly unsure that Greg’s shock and silence is a good sign. 

He can’t quite shut out the thought that informs him that he’s ruined it all. 

Mycroft moves to face Greg, settling on his knees on the bed. Greg watches it all unfold, and Mycroft notices that there’s tears in Greg’s eyes. 

“Gregory-“ Mycroft’s voice breaks, betraying his anxiety. 

Greg’s quiet chuckle, his hand closing around Mycroft’s free hand gives him strength to carry on. 

“Gregory-“ Mycroft tries again, “The last decade has been comprised of the best years of my life. You’ve given me so much of what I believed that I would never have. I’ve experienced happiness and love like I’ve never known. I would very much like for you to be my husband. I feel alive with you when I am by your side, and I long for that to continue for the rest of our lives. Will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?” 

Greg squeezes his hand, a tear runs down his cheek, but he’s smiling like the sun. It takes Mycroft’s breath away all over again. 

“You brilliant bastard, Myc.” Greg wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, his smile is wide and it seems impossible for him to stop, which only makes Mycroft more overjoyed. 

“Of course I’ll marry you.” Greg reaches out, taking a handful of Mycroft’s dressing gown to pull him in for a kiss. When they break apart, Greg laughs again. “Christ, Myc. Yes, _yes_.” 

Mycroft fumbles with the ring box, his shaking hands suddenly clumsy. 

Greg’s delighted chuckle definitely helps and suddenly he’s holding out the silver ring to Greg who graces Mycroft with another breathtaking smile as he holds out his left hand. 

Mycroft slides the ring onto Greg’s ring finger, it fits perfectly as he knew it would. 

Greg bites his lip, eyes sparkling, “I love you, Myc.” 

“I love you too, Gregory. With all my heart.” He intertwines their fingers, and Greg squeezes tight. 

“Let’s get this out of the way, wanna be with you.” Greg murmurs, shifting to move the breakfast tray from his lap. 

“You haven’t even eaten anything yet.” Mycroft observes. 

Greg pretends to look scandalised, which sends a warmth through Mycroft. 

“Share with me?” 

Mycroft nods, getting under the covers and sitting beside Greg. Mycroft immediately goes for a slice of toast and he hears Greg chuckle. “So this was what you were keeping from me?”

Mycroft nods, feeling the blush as it spreads across his cheeks. 

Greg leans in to kiss his cheek, “M’gonna call in and take the rest of the day off.”

“Oh?” The hope in his voice does not go unnoticed. 

“I think we have some celebrating to do, don’t you?” Greg’s voice is husky and he has the audacity to wink at him, biting his bottom lip as if he has no idea of the effect that it tends to have on Mycroft. 

“Perhaps postpone this until lunch?” Mycroft inquires, eyes wide and innocent as he tips his head towards the food. 

“Brilliant idea, love.” Greg sets about moving it to his beside table before pulling Mycroft astride his thighs. “Now, _fiancé,” _Greg pauses, having drawn out the word, his open mouthed smile and shining eyes hitting Mycroft with a warmth right in the chest._ “_I would very much like to kiss you and get you out of those clothes.” 

“Would you now, future husband?” Mycroft teases, all the anxiety quickly turning into excited energy, Mycroft feels lighter and more carefree than he ever has. 

Greg pulls him into a slow, teasing kiss, his fingers already unbuttoning Mycroft’s nightshirt. Mycroft can feel him smile against his lips and his heart dances with joy. 

“First shag as fiancés?” Greg’s breath is warm on Mycroft’s neck, his teeth gently grazing the skin. 

Mycroft’s laugh is louder than intended, “Really, Gregory. Is everything about sex?”  
“Just something to keep us occupied until I can call you my husband.” Greg is already pushing Mycroft’s nightshirt off his shoulders, pressing light kisses along Mycroft’s shoulder. “Love you, Myc.”

“And I you, my love.” It’s Mycroft’s turn to steal a kiss now and he does so with gusto. _“Fiancé.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> @ lostallsenseofcontrol on tumblr  
@ lostallsenseof1 on twitter


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